Chasing Waterfalls
by LillyMorgan
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. John is trying to manage without his partner as his suspicions rise that something different went on the day of his death. Having an unexpected friendship with a new flatmate, Stamford's niece Phoebe, the doctor finally openly mourns his best friend and tries to live on without him. That is, until the consulting detective decides to show his face again. OC.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N. I'm back! I've missed fanfiction. This is my first fanfic for Sherlock and I really wanted to try something with an OC I'd like to write.**

**I'm in huge need of a Beta, so if you're interested, please PM me asap! My problem is more writing style than it is grammar, though my grammar isn't flawless.**

**I forgot everything else I wanted to say! *is nervous***

**Disclaim: I don't own Sherlock, if I did, Reichenbach wouldn't have ended like it did and we would have more episodes per year. That's obviously not happening.**

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**Chapter One: Owner of a Lonely Heart**

John awoke with a start, panting as he'd had to hold his breath when he woke up to keep himself from yelling out _his_ name. He'd seen it again, the fall. The dream replayed in his head as the memory once did. His heart was still beating fast, he still felt like he was in danger for one second and then that fear left him as he remembered it was already all over. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Sherlock died 2 weeks ago, and nothing John did was going to bring him back. He felt the emptiness the fear left in its place, and then grief filled the hole for him. After a few minutes, he decided to go down the stairs to walk around in 221B and get himself a cup of tea to calm himself.

Entering the messy overcrowded room, he smiled at the mess of it. Even without his partner, the place was still an absolute wreck. John never was one for also couldn't stand to move anything in that flat. His psychologist told him that he should some time, that it was about time he try to move on. He couldn't leave though. One day maybe. Later. Not today, not now, not anytime soon. He couldn't. It was his place now when it used to be their place. He was supposed to remove Sherlock's things, but every time he tried he was just reminded of the tragic end.

He was quiet again, like he used to be. Just quiet, just John Watson. Just returned from the battlefield, an army doctor, a good one. He was suffering from PTSD then, now sometimes he felt like it just came back. Nothing changed. That's how it felt. His therapist mistook his reactions to returning to citizen's life because he was haunted by the war. As Mycroft put it, he wasn't. He just missed it. He was back to just plain John Watson. Nothing happened to him.

Nothing.

Nothing without him around to rock the boat.

The media didn't leave him alone after all this time. He never gave them an interview. He didn't post in his blog. They all wanted a scoop. A word. Some way to understand what'd happened. John wanted the same thing, which is why he couldn't answer them. He knew nothing, he didn't know a thing. Sherlock had left him out in the cold, and he didn't know what happened that day. He lost his best friend, and that's the only explanation he could provide. He didn't look up Sherlock again for a week after it happened. When he did, it was only to torture himself. He read for hours about the reports on his death. Sherlock never had a funeral, the closest thing he had to one was when Mrs. Hudson and John visited. The reporters had little to say on the matter, but John still felt as if he was being pressured to say something. He couldn't tell them or anyone about how he felt though. He believed in Sherlock Holmes. He may have told everyone what Sherlock had to say, but it was all a lie. Moriarty was real, John knew he was.

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It wasn't the tears or the pain that he was haunted by anymore, it was the fear that kept him up. Like he was missing something.

He ran through that event at least once a day, even now. It was a month after and he still reflected on it. He felt the first week of it had just been shock, something he never thought he'd suffer from. He'd been through so much stress and trauma from Afghanistan and the cases he'd done with Sherlock, but nothing could prepare him for this kind of grief. John payed the rent himself, though he'd once told Mrs. Hudson he couldn't bare to stay. He did anyway. She didn t seem happy, she seemed concerned but she never asked questions. She never took it out on him either, still giving him the same rate she'd given Sherlock despite everything. He managed the pay for weeks alone, but now he didn t know what to do to keep the place. He couldn't go on like this, but he couldn't give the place up. Despite everything, he refused to give this place up. One step forward and John was afraid it could all fall apart for him, this mask he was keeping like he was perfectly okay.

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Stamford understood. They saw each other more and more now. That man remained his friend through everything, though he was only able to do so much. He, too, was skeptical about the events that happened. Lucky for John, he never said anything. He only apologized. John knew he was skeptical and curious, and appreciated that he never let it get the best of him. He could only offer suggestions when John came to him with a problem. Never truly what he wanted to say, but what John would be able to hear. "What about a flatmate?" The doctor ignored the look he got from John. "It's really the only way."

"They'll get to me, I think, who ever they are. I'm afraid they'll get to me or something. Something that will make me do or say something stupid, I can't have someone just replace him like that." John was busy looking around the lab in an effort not to let the emotions get to him as it'd been the first time he'd entered the lab since Sherlock He let his face go blank again, no longer sporting his frown.

"Maybe they don't need to replace him," the plump doctor said before going quiet again. It wasn't brought up again for a few more days.

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**Weird ending, I know, but please let me know what you think and if you think I should continue. Constructive criticism is much loved and appreciated, as are any reviews. 3**


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry if it seems I'm rushing, I'm not. I really wanted these scenes to go this fast. Making it longer would've dragged the story out too long. It'll slow down in a bit. Still need a beta! Please PM if interested. Finally introducing my OC in this chapter, thought it's mostly a glimpse.

Disclaimer: Don't own Sherlock.

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Going to see Stamford was the first time John hadn't tried to hide his face when he went out in public. Reporters hadn't left Baker Street for two weeks, trying to get his word. But he never gave it to them, finding other ways to head out of the building. He'd left the building that day without cover. He didn't know anyone saw him.

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Stamford video-called him at one point. It was a few days after their conversation, John went out everyday now, assuming it was safe. Mike told him he had an idea about the rent. John believe him, it wouldn't be the first time he did him this favor. Finding people in need of flatmates must've been a hobby of the doctors considering how quickly he seemed to work.

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Stamford went to see him at the flat. It was the first time John had a visitor in a long time. Sometimes Lestrade would come, the first two weeks after Sherlock's death. They'd drink tea and dance around the subject of the consulting detective. Nothing would be said, but they both knew they were mourning a friend. They knew the other didn't want to believe it either. Mike came to speak to him about an idea. Resisting a 'second time's the charm' joke out of respect, he began to explain to John within minutes that his niece was visiting. She needed a place to stay, as her living situation was changed last minute. She turned to her uncle to come up with a new plan. She couldn't afford to pay a hotel every day, and since she was only staying for the summer and had a job, it wouldn't be much of a disturbance. At least that's what Stamford hoped. John thought about it, but he didn't know about letting anyone into Sherlock's room. He voiced that opinion without another word, not mentioning how that meant he would have to clean it out. "Look," the doctor began, sighing because he began to worry his old friend wouldn't be able to cope with his partner's death. "You don't have to give her Sherlock's room. You could move into his room, give her the upstairs one." Stamford could hear somewhere in the distance John's psychologist was cursing him for countering any progress. This would do wonders for his healing process. "She probably won't be around much, just needs a place to sleep. She's usually extremely busy," the professor explained.

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John couldn't help picturing an awkward teenager would be there to meet him and ask to share his flat. He couldn't help it, once you got into your thirties, any one in college or younger becomes a kid to you, and Stamford told him his niece was attending Cambridge just a month earlier. It was probably why the blond man was confused when a young lady stood outside of his apartment, although younger than him, completely grown up. He didn't want to let any clichés come to mind, but he couldn't help feeling like she just seemed out of place. She was wearing her hair tied back completely away from her face. Her face was clear of make up, which he couldn't help but think odd considering the look of her coat. She looked like she worked, and this woman gave off an aura like she really was not supposed to be there, John wondered why that was. The young blonde saw him and smiled, almost politely. She headed straight towards him, her smile widening as she caught up to him and extended her hand. "You must be Dr. Watson." The blond man nodded, quickly snapping out of his stare. She reminded him eerily of Mycroft's usual women. She was beautiful in a similar way, she just seemed the youngest of the handful of women he'd met. He expected a black car to be parked nearby any second. He knew leaving the apartment in a more creative manner than the front door kept him hidden. He shouldn't have gotten lazy.

"Yes, hi," John started, speaking quickly as he tried to figure her out. He reached out his hand but never actually shook hers as he began to look around. "John Watson. Did Mycroft send you?" He was confused. What could the eldest Holmes brother want with him now? Especially after everything? He didn't say a word at Sherlock's funeral, only speaking once to Lestrade and only for a moment. Why did he want to speak with John?

"Mycroft?" she asked, seeming genuinely confused.

"Holmes?"

"Oh, no, I'm Phoebe," she chuckled once, leaving John to wonder what she found so amusing. Was he wrong? "Mike Stamford's niece."

"Oh, right!" He forced a chuckle hiding his embarrassment as he was supposed to have been expecting her. "Yes, I'm Dr. Watson, John Watson. Call me John. Yes, sorry about that, sorry," he repeated. He was right back to being just a teaspoon awkward. She didn't seem to mind, the grin on her face still not fading until John motioned for them to enter the cafe next door to sit. The silence was just as awkward, not because she acted as if she was uncomfortable, but because she seemed amused. She just seemed perfectly comfortable through a moment of silence that was supposed to be just the opposite. She looked him in the eye without hesitation. It was rare that he meet someone younger than him with this kind of self-assurance. No wonder he'd thought she was old enough to work for Mycroft.

When they finally got around to the point, John took lead and just began to ask questions to keep from seeming to quiet. He knew nothing about this girl where as the look in her eyes told him she knew about him. Maybe she'd heard from his uncle, or maybe she was always this comfortable with people. He didn't know. Again, she was a total stranger. Stamford told him she'd speak for herself, and she did.

"I started today, actually," the girl answered him, speaking about her job. "Just came back from my morning session to speak to you."

"Morning session?"

"Well, class, warm-up," she answered casually. Her answers were lost on the doctor, he felt he was missing something.

"What do you do?" John asked, confused. She quirked her eyebrows before a look of realization crossed her face. She'd guessed her uncle had told him all about her. He made a habit of bragging about her to the point where she had nothing to speak to anyone about since they already knew from him. They were close since she was little. She was his only sister's only child. So far the only child he was related to by blood, not that she was a kid anymore.

"I dance, just got a job as a temp 'corps de' for the London ballet-" John didn't make an attempt to hide his surprise or the fact that he considered it impressive. He remembered once Sherlock and him had a case at their stage. It was where they were dubbed 'Hat-man and Robin'. The look of kudos didn't seem to ring well with the young girl as she grimaced at him and tried to change the subject. "So yeah, I'm just really looking for a place to sleep. I work long hours most of the time, unless I'm doing a character dance. In which case I have time off….to sleep more." After a minute, John nodded and asked her another question so she'd go on and tell him. He supposed he had asked her how she scored the job or something, as once he'd made the decision that it could work since she seemed pleasant enough, he heard her speaking about ballet again. "-long story short, he knew the ballet master. London's had the most injuries they've had in years, so they needed someone to do mostly character dances and occasionally fill in for corps. It was a connection thing. It wasn't as much of an honor as I'd like to take it as." She didn't seemed very happy to be either admitting or gloating about something like this. To John it would've sounded impressive either way, had he been paying attention. He cleared his throat, getting to the point.

"All things considered, I don't think it'd be a problem for you to move in," he told her, watching the shy smile turn more into a grin. He couldn't help but grin back. She told him she'd be staying at the hotel for the night, giving John a night to clear out his own room.

It was easier than he thought. Sherlock's room was much bigger than John's. In fact, Mrs. Hudson was right in a way that they could share this room when they first met, despite what she was insinuating. Moving John's things in without moving Sherlock's things out was easy enough. Sherlock's room was extremely neat compared to their living room. John's things fit in fine, he didn't have to move any of Sherlock's items. Not that he could bring himself to.

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**A/N: Still need a beta! Reviews much appreciated! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Received some writing advice, I've tried to apply it in this chapter and I hope I did a better job. This is an in-progress story now, since I'm hoping to edit the first two chapters. None of the plot will change, just the writing. Hoping I did better this time though! Beta still needed, and constructive criticism still adored! :3**

**Also, edited in a cover for this fic. The woman on the cover is Phoebe as I see her. It's Dianna Agron if you can't see it. xD The attempted angst has ended in this story, now it's more about the friendship John will form, as well as a look at what Sherlock is up to since John doesn't know he didn't die.**

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John had already cleaned the flat to the point where the floor could at least be seen. He covered the skull with a piece of red velvet cloth so it wouldn't frighten her. It was tidy enough considering she said she wouldn't be sticking around long. Once he was satisfied with his cleaning job, he called her to let her know and hurried out to meet Stamford at the hospital.

Molly and John hadn't spoken in weeks. The only time he saw her, she was working in the same lab as Stamford when he went to visit. They greeted each other, but they didn't exactly get any time to talk. Stamford had only left them for a moment, and they just exchanged pleasantries and Molly asked him if he was okay. This time John decided to return the favor when he found that his old friend wasn't there.

"Molly," John greeted her, forcing a polite smile. She glanced at him and didn't even smile back before looking away. She suddenly seemed busier than she had been minutes ago. She greeted him back just with his name, no cheery hello like he used to hear.

"How have you been?" Something about the look he gave her seemed to rub her the wrong way as her glance turned into a more meaningful look. It was almost careful,

"John, it's been longer than a month," she informed him. "Stop." It was like a command and a whine mixed into one. Molly was already looking back into her microscope when he registered her words. He couldn't get her to look back up as they spoke. It was almost like she was pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Stop what?" he asked, genuinely confused as to how he managed to offend her already.

"The pity routine. He's been gone," Molly paused, "dead, 7 weeks, John. I'm fine." It was uncharacteristically blunt of her, considering he'd only spoken to her for a few seconds, but she was right. John realized he sounded like he was pitying her. He was always like that around Molly, so was Lestrade. They all felt bad for Molly, nothing ever seemed to work out for her. Jim, in more ways than one, turned out to be a fake interest. The only other man they'd seen her go after was Sherlock, who among other things, threw himself off the roof of the same building she worked in. John was Sherlock's best friend, and he knew he was still hurting. He could only begin to imagine how she was feeling. Her crush on him was always out in the open, everyone knew about it before she even told them.

"You're right," John admitted, hoping to change the subject. "How have things been with you?"

"Busier than usual, you?" Molly answered quickly. She seemed to have frozen herself on the spot, despite how sure she was trying to sound. Almost as if she didn't want John around at the moment, he brushed it off. He figured maybe she was still a bit sensitive about the subject of Sherlock's death although she denied it. Maybe he reminded her of him. He never really used to show up on his own. They were a team, they rarely showed up any of their usual spots without their other half. John didn't notice Molly shuffling a paper over another.

"Great…..just great, I'm looking for Stamford, have you seen him?" John asked.

"He's out for lunch."

"I guess I'll just wait for him." John could hear Molly gulp, it was audible not that she seemed to realize that.

"Is it important? I could just tell him. Leave a note or something," she spoke so fast she must've realized she was doing it. She stopped and tried to smile at John and play it off. "Just so you're not stuck waiting." The doctor could tell she was trying to get rid of him, he just couldn't guess why.

"Molly, are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine!" she answered before turning back to her work. John decided to let her have it her way and took a pen and wrote Stamford a note about Phoebe moving in. It was brief, but long enough that he didn't feel like Mike would mind that he left. As he began to write, he heard the clink of glass in the background and didn't think anything of it. Turning back to Molly, he saw her rush back to the microscope. He didn't even bother asking, until he looked at the instrument and noticed that there wasn't a slide under it. Glancing back and forth between the missing the slide and Molly, John shook off the feeling that something was going on.

"Can you give this to him?" Molly nodded quickly. She might as well have been the one to swallow the canary, the look on her face. "I guess I'll be seeing you."

"Bye, John!" He heard her chime as he opened the door. He didn't look back, sure he didn't even want to know what had happened.

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Molly called Sherlock on speed dial, her breath quickening.

"The sample you gave me, it's just sand, you were right….." she said, telling him just what he needed to know before beginning to complain. "You NEED to find someone else to check these things for you." Molly pulled the phone away from her ear as soon as he began to raise his voice. "He was here again," she explained. He didn't stop his line of questioning. "He needed to leave Stamford a note." She hated when he used the tone he had, like she was stupid for not just answering his questions before he asked them.

"I don't know! I didn't read it!" Listening to his reply, Molly just rolled her eyes and opened the note. She didn't like invading John's privacy but the man on the line was going to pester her until she did.

"Some woman named Phoebe's moving into your old apartment." She let him continue his line of questioning, allowing him to get it all out. "No, I don't know if he's moving out." Reading the rest of the note, Molly grimaced. "Sherlock, I don't think I'm going to get another chance to ask him. I think it's time to tell him." Molly's eyes glared in her phone's direction when she had to take the phone from her ear. "No, of course you can't, what do I know? He's just your best friend."

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_Mike -_

_Phoebe's fine, she's moving in to 221B today. All's settled. Couldn't stick around, I'm distracting Molly. Just call me when you can. Better yet, call Phoebe. I'll be helping her move in._

_-JW_

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**Thoughts? Let me know how I'm doing? :)**


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